Of Monsters And Men
by Thor
Summary: Harris gets a new and neater look thanks to Tremere's formatting genius. Please Read


Welcome back once again into the bowels of my imaginings and the dark streets of Detroit. They are always eager for more victims...(the streets, not my imaginings.....though that would explain where Uncle Carlwent last New Years....) In any case, my name is Thor, I am responsiblefor this pile of words you are about to read. Any comments, rants, idea,requests, and letters that question my masculinity. May be sent to me atarcanloth@hotmail.com.This story contains foul language, violence, adultsituations, and Tzimice's. Continue reading at your own risk. Also I hope you happen to like Harris, cause I can assure you he will be appearing again in more stories. (I just can't cut the poor guy a break.) Also, if you're a fan of earlier tales you may spot a familier face or two. In any case, read on, and enjoy.

Of Monsters And Men: A Tale of Detroit 

The hallway was gleaming. It was so perfectly polished that Harris could easily see his reflection shining back at him. He looked at the inverted image of himself as he walked down the hallway. His business shoes made a sharp crack with each and every footstep. His black silk pants swished smoothly together as his legs moved back and forth. His finely manicured hands gripped the lapels of his black overcoat as he walked. His mop of dark brown hair rested gently on top his head. He smiled slightly, though the grin failed to reach his sharp blue eyes.  
  
Harris reached the end of the hallway and opened the massive twin oak doors that stood there. Beyond them was the vast and expansive lawn of the mansion. Standing on the doorstep was a nervous looking woman and Roulda, the chauffeur. Roulda nodded his massive head to Harris and turned to return to his limo. Harris watched the mammoth and ominous figure walk away, and noticed the woman let out a small sigh of relief.  
  
"Welcome to Anderson House," said Harris with a sweeping bow.  
  
The woman slowly stepped over the threshold and looked down the massive hallway with a nervous glance. She was a stunning sight. Her lustrous mahogany colored skin gleamed under the candlelight that lit the hall. Her thick black hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that fell to her lower back. She pursed her succulent lips as she glanced back at Harris.  
  
"Are you George Anderson?" Harris shook his head and motioned down the hall.  
  
"Mr. Anderson awaits you in the study."She began to walk smoothly down the corridor. Harris followed, admiring the simple grace of her movements.  
  
"So who are you?"  
  
"My name is Harris I....perform various duties for Mr. Anderson."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Harris forced himself to stop watching her, and to instead concentrate on his surroundings. This was indeed a mansion filled with a priceless collection of art. Besides, best not to dwell on what awaited the girl in the study.  
  
"My name is Mary."  
  
"A very pretty name."  
  
"Why did Mr. Anderson want to see me?"  
  
Harris glanced at the now apparently frightened woman walking next to him. Because he wants your blood! Harris wanted to yell into her face. Wanted to scream for her to run, to flee this place. It wouldn't do any good.  
  
"He merely wishes to discuss your performance. He is a great fan of the fine arts."  
  
"And a massive contributor to the opera hall."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What would have happened if I had refused."  
  
She had obviously sensed the dread feelings of some of the older stars who worked at the opera. The ones who remembered other great young singers who had been asked to 'visit' Mr. Anderson. Harris took a few quick steps and opened the door to the study.  
  
"If I were you," he whispered to her as she entered, "I would do exactly what he says. 

* * *

Harris parked the Mercedes in the alley and got out. He looked around, nobody was in sight. Harris walked around and opened the trunk. He pulled out the two bags and set them down. They squished slightly. He closed the trunk and picked up the bags again. He tossed them into the nearby dumpster. He shook his head as he stood there staring at the darkness he had just lowered the bags into. Why couldn't she have just played along? Why couldn't she have lied? Why couldn't she have stayed quiet? Then she might still be alive.  
  
He walked back to his car and drove off. His job was beginning to sicken him more and more each night. Every time he led a beautiful and talented woman down that hall. Every time he was forced to scrub them up. Every time he had to squeeze the gore out of the fine Persian rugs. Why didn't he just walk away? Harris knew why. 'Mr. Anderson' was his sire. To leave him was like trying to go cold turkey on heroin. Not too damn likely to work.  
  
He drove over to Gurdy's a quiet and worn down country western bar on the outskirts of Detroit. It was the one place he could find peace. And where he could listen to his muse. Earl, the bouncer, saw him coming and waved him right in. Harris was well known here. Though he kept his sect and clan a secret from the other Kindred who used the bar, best not to cause too much trouble. As he entered he heard a loud bellow erupt from one of the side booths.  
  
"What'dya mean ya don't believe me! She was an angel!!!"  
  
Harris winced at the loud crack and watched the figure crawl from the booth. One of his arms shattered in three places. Harris recognized him, Sam, one of the Brujah clan, and a mean bastard. Looming up behind Sam while he crawled came the massive and hunched form of Marv. The brutal Caitiff snarled as he stomped down on Sam's head, pinning it to the floor.  
  
"Tell me she's my angel! Say it ya dweeb!"  
  
"She's an angel! She's an angel!"  
  
Marv grinned widely and lifted his foot. Sam staggered to his feet and quickly dashed out of the club. The bar's patrons didn't seem to be too surprised. They all knew Marv, and knew how much trouble he could be. He caused plenty, even if he didn't mean to.  
  
"Hey Harris, how's it hanging?" Harris nodded his head in greeting as Marv sauntered over and slammed his arm down across Harris's back.  
  
"Hey, did I happen to tell you the one about the angel I met?"  
  
"Was that the angel that smelled like peaches, or the angel that looked like Poppinfresh the Pillsbury Doughboy?"  
  
Marv paused and considered. "I met Poppinfresh?"  
  
"So you claimed last week."  
  
"Damn, could you tell me that story?"  
  
Harris looked up into the stone dead eyes of a killer, yet behind them was a weird childlike innocence. He figured it was probably best not to addle the poor clouded fool's mind any more then necessary. Thus he shook his head in apology and slipped out of Marv's grip to wander over to the stage.  
  
"Poppinfresh, huh? I don't remember that one. Musta been real out of it, gotta remember to concentrate more," muttered Marv as he wandered back to the bar.  
  
Harris found a spot near the front of the stage area and quickly claimed it. He knew she would be performing tonight. His dirty little secret, his muse. Her name was Nancy, and her singing could shame a virtuoso into believing his music wasn't good enough to accompany her. There was a freshness, and a innocence to her. She would smile and appear pleased to be able to share her angelic voice with a roomful of slobbering drunks. And, thought Harris, she was beautiful. Not a tawdry or sexual beauty. But a simple fresh and clean one. The kind of beauty that had seemed to have been sucked from this city decades ago.  
The lights dimmed as she stepped out onto the stage and flashed her amazing smile at the crowd. Harris knew that every man watching was sure that the smile was just for them. Harris dreamed it was for him. She sat down on the greasy and rickety stool and lightly strummed her guitar. Harris watched as she seemed to drift into her little inner world. Then she began to play. It was a simple melody, easily forgettable, until she began to sing. Harris leaned back and closed his eyes. He allowed the music to wash over him, cleansing his soul of the evils he had done.  
  
When Nancy had taken her last bow and glided off the stage Harris forced himself to slide out of his trance and stand. Why not go back and speak to her? Why not tell her about his thoughts on her music. Harris shook his head and placed his hands in his pockets. Next time, he'd talk to her next time... 

* * *

His radio was playing a recording of a live performance of a Scottish bard. She was touring throughout the United States and had stopped in Detroit for a week. Harris suspected whom his master would be eyeing next. A few contributions, and then a private show. Harris had seen it all before. He suddenly jerked to alertness as a motorcycle roared up next to his car. The rider leaned over and tapped the glass. Harris looked over at Cal Jericho, Sabbat templar. He sighed and pulled over where Jericho wanted him to. A large empty parking garage. Inside was the grinning form of Knight Bishop Christopher St. Johns.  
  
Harris climbed out of his car and bowed to St. Johns, who was the nominal Sabbat commander of this section of Windsor. Cal Jericho skidded his bike to a stop and swung smoothly off it. Seeming to do so in one single fluid motion.   
  
"Greetings Harris, it has been a time since last we spoke," said St. Johns in his syrupy sweet voice.  
  
"I am ever eager to be allowed time with your grace."  
  
"How is your master?"  
  
"He is well, as always."  
  
"We have not seen him out and about much of late."  
  
"He seems to prefer to stay indoors at the moment," came Harris's reply.  
  
"He also seems to be withdrawing from local politics." Harris shrugged, it was not for him to question his master's wishes. "I begin to worry, after all he is one of the few elders amongst the New Sabbat. I find that his support is sorely missed."  
  
Harris shrugged again, suddenly he was thrown back as Jericho seemed to slam into him from nowhere. Harris smashed into the ground and found himself looking up at the templar, a drawn blade pressing into his neck.  
  
"What the hell's that fruity flesh fondling freak up to?" Demanded Jericho.  
  
"I...uh don't know what...."  
  
"I keep seeing your punk ass head out to some Camarilla controlled areas. What's up with that?"  
  
"It's just relaxation, there's a singer who..."  
  
"Can the crap, you want me to slice you a few new assholes?"  
  
"I'm sure if you spoke to my mas..."  
  
"You really are a pathetic worthless piece of shit slave, ain'tcha?" Harris went dead still. His urbane features seemed to roil slightly. Jericho cocked an eyebrow as the slim form of Harris seemed to bulge, as muscles grew under his suit. "You planning on throwing down....slave boy?"  
  
"I'm not his SLAVE!"   
  
Harris's arm suddenly extended out to clamp around Jericho's throat, barbs of bone ripping from his fingers to cut the templar's neck. Jericho hissed and lashed up with his blade, it cleanly severed the arm, as Jericho danced back from Harris. Harris, quickly regained his feet, a gob of flesh and blood extended from his severed forearm to create a brutal looking scythe blade. Meanwhile plates of bone extended from under his flesh to create a form of personal armor all over his body. Harris's eyes flared blood red as his fanged maw snarled at Jericho. The templar scowled and dropped into a ready battle stance. St. Johns slowly backed away, wanting no part of either combatant.  
  
"Stand down soldier!" Came a soft voice full of command. Harris seemed to freeze up, he glanced over at the slim dark shape walking out of the shadows. "I ordered you to stand down."  
  
Harris immediately began to collapse the armored bones and to reform his regular shape. Muscles seemed to break down, the bone spur was sucked into the arm while a slight and well manicured hand slid out of the bloody sliced coat sleeve. The figure stepped into the light, it was the small dark form of Anne Arbor, head of The Black Hand units in Detroit.  
  
"Hey bitch," growled Jericho, "what the hell are you doing here?"  
  
"I happened to notice you spying on one of my previous aides. I just wanted to know why."  
  
"None of your fucking-"  
  
"Anne," said St. Johns brightly as he walked back over, "the esteemed Mr. Jericho was simply following my orders, by keeping track of some unusual behavior for me."  
  
"Really."  
  
"Perhaps we should talk," St. Johns said solicitously.  
  
"Harris, you better get home," said Anne as she walked over to speak with the bishop. Harris quickly bowed and rushed back to his car. 

* * *

He sat outside on the lawn. He couldn't handle going back inside now. They had brought back the memories he had thought buried. The wild times. The bloody times. The killing times. Harris held up his left hand and looked at the gleaming black tattoo of a crescent moon emblazoned on his palm. The Black Hand, the society of warriors, assassins, and cold blooded killers that worked for the Sabbat. They were what was called in when a problem was too dangerous for a regular war pack to take care of. Harris had been one of the most effective. A silent killer who could get into any haven, a hunter who could claim any prize.  
  
He had killed so many. He had tortured so many. The wild times. The bloody times. The killing times. When Anne had first arrived in Detroit Harris had been her second in command. He had been angry at not getting the chief position himself, but he had served her ably. He had killed for her, hunted for her. Sometimes he would even take care of her enemies before she knew she had them, without even asking her. Anne had not appreciated. She called him savage, out of control.   
  
He had tried to kill her, his only friend in the group had gotten in the way. The wild times. The bloody times. The killing times. His friend was dead, he moved on towards Anne. But she was more skilled then expected. She was not blinded by rage. She had almost destroyed him, but she didn't. She ordered him to just return to his master, and await further orders. None had come. He had tried to put it all behind him. Tried to play the sophisticated man. Tried to be the good man. Tried to act human. Tried to hide the monster. He heard the door open and glanced over his shoulder as Roulda made his way across the lawn towards him.  
  
"The master wishes to speak with you."  
  
Harris looked up at the massive wall of muscle towering over him. No wasn't an answer. He stood up and slowly allowed himself to be lead back into the house. 

* * *

Harris walked out of Gurdy's. Next time, he would definitely speak to her next time. As he walked slowly back to his car he spotted a limo sitting across the street. The massive vehicle stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. The rear window slowly rolled up, hiding the passenger from view. But Harris knew who it was. He could make out the dark mass of Roulda sitting in the drivers seat. Harris started across the street, but before he got to it the limo smoothly pulled away into the night.  
  
He had been here. The master. He had heard her voice, sweet as ambrosia. The master would be hungry again soon. Harris felt the world shift around him, he fell into the dark abyss. Twisting in the nightmare of two goals. Serve his master. Protect the muse. His heart warred with his will. Harris staggered and slumped down against a wall. All was lost to him. He was dead, and so was her innocence.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
A voice, rich with innocence and purity. Harris looked up into her shining smile.  
  
"Looks like somebody had one too many, huh?"  
  
Harris shook his head slowly, "I..."  
  
"Are you going to be all right? I could call a cab."  
  
"I...I'm..."  
  
"It's strange, you never seemed to drink too heavily."  
  
Harris's world came into perfect precision.  
  
"You, noticed me?"  
  
Her laugh, like chiming crystal.  
  
"Sure I did. You kind of stick out from the usual crowd in there," she pointed at his fine Armani suit. "Not to mention, you seem to have been at every show I've done here for the last two years. A girl does notice that sort of attention."  
  
"I...your singing."  
  
She smiled, a sun shone warmly on Harris's face.  
  
"You like it, thanks. How come you never came back to talk to me?"  
  
"Talk...I."  
  
"The shy type huh? Are you okay?"  
  
Harris quickly climbed to his feet.  
  
"Fine....I just...I."  
  
She giggled at his tripping tongue.  
  
"Would you like to walk me home?"  
  
A temptation even Christ would be hard pressed to refuse. Harris's hadn't a chance.  
  
"Yes, I would be honored." 

* * *

"So after that I decided there had to be better places then Kansas. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time there...but. I wanted more."  
  
Harris sat on a couch in the cramped apartment listening to her talk. She was back in her bedroom changing out of her performance outfit. Harris could just make out the smooth sounds of cloth sliding over her perfect flesh.  
  
"I ended up here in Detroit and was able to get a job at Gurdy's. The pay isn't bad, and the hours are great." She walked back into the living room, wearing a pink T-shirt and cut off jeans. "So what do you do for a living?"  
  
"I....uh...I suppose you could call me a executive assistant."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Whom...for Mr. George Anderson."  
  
Nancy's eyes widened in surprise as she came over and slipped onto the sofa next to Harris. "For THE George Anderson? The art connoisseur?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Was it you who told him about me?"  
  
"What?" Harris came to his feet and spun around to look at the shocked Nancy. "What do you know about Mr. Anderson?" Nancy reached over to her purse and pulled out a small note.  
  
"What's wrong, lots of artists make it big when Mr. Anderson offers to help them."   
  
Harris took the note. It mentioned how interested Mr. Anderson was in her amazing talent. And how he would be interested to make her aqquientence soon. Very soon. "You have to get out of here," Harris said as he pulled Nancy abruptly to her feet.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's dangerous, you have to leave now!"  
  
"Why,"  
  
"I can't tell you." Nancy tore her arm from his grip and took a step back from him.  
  
"What in the blue blazes are you talking about?  
  
"You have to trust me, I have money. We have to get you out of here. Out of Detroit."  
  
"I ain't leaving my home just cause you say so. You're one strange fellow y'know."  
  
Harris grabbed her arms and stared into her eyes, he felt her quake in fear as she looked deep into his dark and wild gaze. "Listen very carefully. You have no idea what Mr. Anderson does to some of the girls he brings up to his house. Do you know who Mary Shadrick was?"  
  
"An opera star, she disappeared two months ago."  
  
"She didn't disappear. She went up to see Mr. Anderson."  
  
"But, that's crazy, how would you.."  
  
"I took care of the body." Nancy went dead still in his arms. "I clean up the blood, I chop up the pieces." Nancy began to shake her head from side to side. "I even dispose of the remains. If you go up there I'll have to clean you up too." Nancy began to struggle in his arms, trying to pull free. "I don't want to have to do it, but I'll have no choice."  
  
"Let go of me, this can't be true."  
  
"He's got me already Nancy, I won't let him have you!" Harris let her go and pulled out his wallet. He dragged a mass of twenties from it and crammed them into her hand. "Pack quickly, I'll get you to a bus station."  
  
"Wait," she stopped, trying to take hold of the situation. "If what you say is true, we need to go to the police."  
  
Harris shook his head. "No good, the cops can't touch him. He could walk into the station, confess his crimes and kill one of them, and they still couldn't stop him. Trust me, this is the only way."  
Nancy looked into his eyes. "Come with me." Harris froze, his gaze locked with her innocent shining eyes. "Come with me Harris, you don't want to be a part of this do you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then come with me!"  
  
"I...I wish it were so simple."  
  
"Why isn't it?"  
  
Harris turned away from her. "I'm not...not the type of man you need in your life."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I've done so many things," Harris looked down at his hands, he could hear the cries of the dead.   
  
"I'm not even sure if I'm a man anymore."  
  
"Sure you are."  
  
"Just pack your things, now!"  
  
Nancy jerked back from his sudden outburst. She slowly turned towards her bedroom. There was a knock at the door. Harris froze, he turned to glance out a window. Below was a gleaming black limousine. No! They couldn't have come this quickly! Not this quickly! Nancy turned and started to open the door. Harris yelled in alarm and leapt for the door to try to slam it closed. Even as he slammed into it smashed inward. Wood shattering and sending Harris sprawling to the floor. Roulda stood outlined in the doorway. His monolithic frame seeming to block all escape.  
  
"Mr. Anderson would like to see you now Nancy," Roulda said in his deep slow voice.  
  
"I...I can't see him now," Nancy said as she stepped back from the dark shape. Roulda glanced at Harris as he climbed to his feet. There was a low rumble from deep inside the massive tree trunk like chest.  
  
"Harris, the master is concerned over your loyalties. You would do well to convince the lady to come with me. Now."  
  
"I seem to recall the lady saying no," Harris said as he stepped between Roulda and Nancy.  
  
"Harris be careful," gasped Nancy as she saw the small gentle man step in front of the towering force of muscle that loomed before them.  
  
"I would listen to her, this is no quiet assassination. This is a fight, and I will kill you."  
  
Harris felt the beast struggling at the bars he had entrapped it behind. It wanted out, it wanted to play. The wild times. The bloody times. The killing times. Harris lashed out and smashed his fist across the massive jaw. Roulda barely reacted. Harris's foot sped out to Roulda's knee, his hand slammed into the chauffeur's gut. It felt like he was hitting an iron wall. Roulda's massive arm swept out and sent Harris smashing into the wall. Harris felt no less then three bones break at the impact. He staggered up, but Roulda was already on him, a flash of immense pain between his legs. Harris gasped as Roulda grabbed his head and brought it down on his massive rising knee. Bones crunched, teeth popped out. Harris swung blindly, his arm was gripped and twisted into a mangled mess.   
  
Harris suddenly felt himself lift into the air. He heard the shattering of glass. Heard Nancy scream. Felt the bone jarring impact with asphalt. He lay there and coughed up blood. Then he forced himself to begin healing. Bones popped back, flesh mended together. He staggered up, he heard the smooth roar of the limo. The massive black car slammed into him. Flashes of images. Roulda's grinning face. Nancy screaming in the back. The ground rushing up for him.  
  
It took him four minutes before he was back on his feet. Roulda had beaten him nearly to death. And he had Nancy. Harris considered his choices. One, go back to the mansion and beg his master for forgiveness. Kiss his feet, apologize to Roulda for denting his car, and clean up what was left of Nancy. Two, go back to the mansion, and take her back.... Harris leaned back his head. The blood roared through him as he tore open the bars and welcomed back the beast. He howled into the night. It was time. The wild time. The bloody time. The killing time! 

* * *

The mansion was a fortress. There were always dozens of armed ghouls guarding it. There was a state of the art security system. And there was Roulda. Harris knew he would need help, serious help, powerful help, and suicidal help. He walked into Gurdy's. He still felt weak, he had drained some blood off of a few sleeping bums in an alley. But he still felt bad, and looked even worse.  
The bartender looked up in surprise at him. Harris never came to the bar unless Nancy was performing. Not to mention his fine suit was torn and bloody. Harris spotted what he was looking for over at the end of the bar. Three anarchs were there. One of them was Sam, the other two were even bigger. Harris figured they were friends. Sitting at the bar, surrounded by them, was the hulking shape of Marv. He was quietly sipping his drink and listening to the Johnny Cash song being piped out into the bar.  
  
"Hey big guy, ya don't seem so tough now huh?" Sneered Sam as he shoved Marv's shoulder. The massive killer turned his head to glance at Sam, he smiled.  
  
"Hey Sam, how's life treating ya."  
  
"Yeah ya wanna make plenty nice with me now don't ya," Sam pulled open his jacket to reveal a massive Desert Eagle automatic. The hand cannon gleamed dully in the dim light.  
  
"Nice piece," said Marv, "musta cost ya." Harris slid into a nearby seat. Marv was the best chance he had. Someone to rip up the security, and to deal with Roulda. And if anyone could...  
  
"C'mon ya big stinky faggot. Ain't ya gonna act all tough on me now, I'll blow your damn brains out." Sam pulled the gun out and pressed it to Marv's face. The other two anarchs crowded in around him.  
  
"Hey Sam, I ain't got nothin' against ya. I was just upset you made fun o my angel. So why don't you relax, ya don't want anybody gettin' hurt. Do ya?"  
  
Harris watched the exchange. Marv was a mystery to most other Kindred of the area. Most just wrote him off as a psychopath, or mad dog killer. But Harris had met enough of those to know that Marv wasn't one of them. A few of the educated types had suggested that Marv had a stunted intellectual growth. That he was just a big dumb kid who had never learned how to act around regular society. Harris didn't think that was right either.  
  
"Not so big now huh? Where's that fucking bitch angel of yours. Maybe after I blow your head apart I'll go and fuck her little bitch halo off."  
Marv stopped grinning. "Ain't no need ta talk bad about a lady." The rest of the bar began to shift away from the confrontation. A few even finished their drinks and left. Harris continued to watch.  
  
"Course I reckon your angel is really some overweight old nun. But for a guy like you that's probably all you can get. Hell, if I looked like that I'd settle for a hole in a fence." He poked the gun against Marv's head, his friends laughed and cheered him on.  
  
"Pal, you better apologize bout my lady."  
  
"Hell, I bet ya can't even pay one of those old hookers ta come with ya. Y'know, the fat ugly disease ridden shitbag hookers. Bet they run when they see you coming."  
  
"You're really starting to honk me off."  
  
"But that's nothing compared to what they do when they see that bitch slob angel of yours."  
  
"Apologize."  
  
"Bitch cunt sucking cow fucking crab ridden angel whore..."  
  
Marv's hand snapped out and grabbed the gun hand, he twisted it and the bones snapped. At the same moment his foot kicked out and knocked Sam's legs out from under him. Marv caught the falling head and slammed it soundly into the bar. Sam collapsed in a messy pile, leaving Marv with the gun. He looked at the two friends.  
  
"Heh, sorry pal, we...uh...hardly knew the guy..." they quickly left.  
  
"Buncha pansies."  
  
Harris didn't think he had Marv all figured out. But he reckoned that there was nothing wrong with Marv, other then being born at the wrong time. He would have been fine on some ancient battlefield or in an arena. Swinging a battle-axe at other gladiators just like him. He would have been a great hero back then. Now he was stuck in a dive bar stomping necks for kicks. Harris was just going to use him. So what? If Harris got Marv to break the necks he wanted him to tonight, instead of random necks. Did it matter?   
  
"Hey Harris, how's it hanging. Ya look like hell."  
  
Harris told him all about Nancy. About the master and Roulda. About what he needed to do. Marv's eyes slipped from killer playful, to small frozen hunks of ice. He would kill tonight, for Harris and Nancy. Simply because he considered Harris a friend. Harris felt sick, he was using him. 

* * *

Anne Arbor and Cal Jericho pulled up outside the brightly lit building. Anne hopped out of her car while Jericho leaped off his bike. The two dark cloaked figures walked up to the main gate. The guard there looked nervously at the pair.  
  
"Hey, tell the old freak we're here to speak with him," Jericho growled.  
  
"Remember that's all we're doing," said Anne while the guard stuttered into the speaker by the gate.  
  
"I'm nothing if not the soul of discretion," said Jericho with a feral grin. The gate slid open and the two deadly killers walked inside. 

* * *

"Shit," groaned Harris from his position on a nearby hill.  
  
"Whatsa matter pal?" Harris looked over to the grinning form of Marv.  
  
"Two of the most dangerous Sabbat in town just went into the house."  
  
"So do we run off, or say 'ahh fuck it' and toast them too."  
  
"We're just here for Nancy."  
  
"Sure, sure." Harris looked at the ominous figure below him. He had rarely seen Marv so....happy? The emotion worried him.  
  
"You do remember the plan?"  
  
Marv grinned, "close enough."  
  
"Then we best get started." I'm coming Nancy, thought Harris as he dashed down the hill to begin circling the house, just hold on! Marv meanwhile cocked Sam's Desert Eagle, and placed it in his pocket. Then as he started to whistle a jaunty tune he stood up and walked off the hill towards the gate. 

* * *

Jericho stood in the gleaming hallway, looming before him was the massive figure who had identified himself as Roulda. Nearby Anne was standing before a expansive landscape painting of a graveyard at dawn.  
  
"So when is your boss gonna meet with us."  
  
"He is busy....entertaining a young woman at the moment," was the deep voiced reply. All three figures paused as they heard what sounded like struggles and screams from the room at the end of the hall.  
  
"Your master is a sick creature," said Anne darkly as she turned from the painting.  
  
"You are an assassin, seek not to judge, lest ye be judged yourself."  
Jericho grinned, "Hey, you're not half as stupid as I thought you were." Jericho continued to grin as the massive head turned towards him, and piercing dark eyes glared from the shadowed brow.  
  
"It would be wise for the guests to respect their host's household. There came a buzzing from a small speaker in the wall. Roulda frowned and walked over, he pressed a button and a small screen flashed to life to reveal the speaker. Roulda found himself looking into a scarred and deadly face. It grinned.  
  
"Hey ugly, ya gonna open the gate for me?"  
  
"Where is Timothy?" The figure in the camera grunted and leaned down. Shortly he rose again, holding a pulpy and battered figure.  
  
"He didn't want to talk ta me. So I decided to expedite things."  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"I found that word in a dictionary....expedite."  
  
"Dog!"  
  
"It means to make things go faster....it's a good word."  
  
"What do you want!?!"  
  
"In...are you gonna open the gate?"  
  
Roulda grinned, "you are a fool with a death wish."  
  
"I take that as no." The figure disappeared from the screen. Almost immediately alarms started to buzz.  
  
"Problems," asked Jericho with a grin. Roulda growled and hit the alert button. Already gunfire could be heard on the front lawn. All three killers quickly headed for the door. Roulda roared as he charged. Jericho drew out his gleaming broadsword. Anne suddenly skidded to a stop and froze. She glanced back to the end of the hall. Then she too set off. 

* * *

Harris grinned when he heard the shouting and gunshots. That hadn't taken Marv long at all. He watched the guards near this wall suddenly take off for the front. Harris grinned again and quickly scampered over the wall. He dropped to the lawn with hardly a sound and quietly sprinted over to the mansion. As he approached the rear door it was opened by one of the guards. Harris kept running silently at him. The guard gasped in fear and started to raise his gun, a massive Colt Anaconda. And, as Harris knew, it would be loaded with hollow point rounds. A spur of bone slid from Harris's wrist to form a sharpened knife gripped in his hand. His foot lashed out and kicked the gun away. He grabbed the back of the guard's head and drove him down into the upcoming knife. One quick twist later it was over.  
  
Harris dragged the body in with him, He avoided the carpets and deposited it in a nearby broom closet. He quickly checked into the security system, using his own code. They hadn't bothered to lock him out. It was a level two alert. All guards to the disturbance. But Harris knew the master wouldn't have gone. No, he would want to 'enjoy' Nancy. Harris growled at the thought. The beast lashed within him, calling for blood. He held the bloody spike in front of him and licked it clean. He grinned, and rushed for the study. 

"Gaaaaah! C'mon ya pansies. Don't ya got a set?"  
  
Marv lashed out with his foot, it slammed down between one of the guards legs. The man howled a wail of pure agony as he gripped his bloody crotch.  
  
"Guess you did. Note the past tense." Marv twisted his hand and snapped the neck of the guard he had been choking. He raised his other hand and fired off three rounds into the next man he saw. The figure collapsed at the first bullet, the next two blasted apart his chest.  
  
"Damn! I love this gun!"  
  
Marv slid it into his jacket, figuring he had to keep a hold on that beauty. He looked up as two more figures charged around into the lawn. They both stopped as they looked at the wave of devastation Marv had wrought. Bodies were impaled on statues, or torn apart. Others had been stomped to death, or blasted apart by the gun. It even appeared that Marv had attempted to throw one through a second story window. He had missed and the body had splattered against the brick wall. Jericho paused as he took in the attacker, then his eyes widened.  
  
"Commander?"  
  
Marv glanced over at the dark and deadly little man. "Do I know you?"  
  
Jericho glanced up and down Marv's massive frame. "You really don't remember do you?"  
  
"I don't remember much of anything, ya wanna fill me in." Roulda growled and suddenly backhanded Jericho. The templar flipped backwards to slam down on the grass.  
  
"You die now!" Roulda charged at Marv, howling like a tiger. Marv's eyes snapped back to killer cold.  
  
"You....you're the guy who fucked up MY PAL!!!!!"  
  
Marv launched forwards. The immovable object met the unstoppable force. There was a loud grunt. The two figures stood there, their hands locked together, backs straining. They glared at each other through the inches that separated them.  
  
"I will kill you dog."  
  
"Oooh, c'mon spanky, y'know ya love me."  
  
Marv's knee jerked up to slam into Roulda's gut. Roulda tensed and lost concentration for a split second. More then Marv needed. He slammed the massive man to the ground and leaped on top of him. Roulda lashed out and slammed his fist into Marv's face. Marv's lip spilt and one of his teeth flipped out. He grinned.  
  
"My turn buddy o pal."  
  
A hand slammed down on Roulda's face, his head bounced off the pavement only to be greeted by another fist. Roulda lashed out wildly. He roared his tiger's roar. Marv laughed in his face and spit a stream of his blood into Roulda's eye. He continued to lash out, his blows began to spray blood all over. Roulda had stopped struggling. Marv continued to punch. Jericho had regained his feet long ago. However now he just watched the carnage, and grinned slightly. Marv began to slow down. He smiled and coughed out some more blood. Somebody had shot him, he wasn't sure when. As he started to stand Roulda groaned. Marv scowled and raised his hands. Soon the wet pounding of his fists could be heard again. 

* * *

Harris walked up to the rear entrance to the study. He reached out to open the door...and paused. Only the master used this door...only the master. Harris lowered his head and took a deep breath. He heard the scream from inside. A siren's scream, a scream that spoke of innocence betrayed. Nancy's scream. The door was violently kicked inward. Harris walked into the room, and held up the gleaming bone knife in his right hand.   
  
The room was shadowy. Thick rich carpeting covered the floor. The high vaulted ceiling was painted with murals of angels in flight. The walls were lined with exquisite paintings and bookshelves crammed with poetry. A case full of finely crafted musical instruments was next to where Harris stood. Across from him, in the middle of the room sat a gleaming piano. Nancy was strapped, spread-eagled on it. Her clothes had been torn off, and small bloody holes marked where the master had already bitten her. So many holes. Harris's eyes flared red as his own fangs slid down. He growled.  
  
"Hello Harris, what brings you here without my asking." Harris turned slowly. The smooth and urbane voice seemed to soothe the anger within him. "My my, but you look the worse for the wear. I hope that Roulda wasn't too rough." The shadowy figure in the corner grinned as it set down the flute it had been holding. "You seem at a loss for words. Perhaps you should sit and relax." Harris felt the ground go out from under him. His master. His dear master. His love. How could he have even considered harming him? Harris took a half shuffling step into the room. He kept turned sideways though, ready for action, and still held the bone spur knife.  
  
"Your little angel was just about to perform one last piece for me. Then the fun would have started. But you seem to have shocked her into silence." Nancy lay on the piano, she seemed to be desperately attempting to speak. To yell. To beg. Anything. But the powers of the master held her as surely as they were reclaiming Harris. "Why don't you put down the knife, my son." Harris lowered his arm. The shadow glided forwards. Perfect, unstoppable, a thing to be worshipped. Harris felt his knees weaken. He had always succumbed to his master's will. "I hope you understand I have to kill her, she was beginning to give you ideas." Harris nodded in agreement. "Why not join me. Go ahead and slit her throat open, we can dine together."  
  
The perfect being slid one talon slowly across the soft flesh of Nancy's neck. She whimpered in fear. Harris nodded eagerly and walked up to the piano. His master was across from him, grinning and nodding sagely. Below Nancy looked up, pleading with her wide sad eyes. Harris could feel the will of the master on his arm, it raised the bone knife. With a single slash he would end what little grasp of his own will he had. He would destroy all that kept him sane. He would be his master's forever. He could feel the master's will, like tempered steel, dragging his arm forward. All of the master's power was going to make him perform this one act. There was no way Harris could ever stop his arm from cutting Nancy's throat. The master grinned.  
  
"Slice her open now slave!"  
  
Harris raised his other hand. The Colt Anaconda pressed against the master's eye. The master gasped in fear as Harris pulled the trigger. The wild times. He fired again, the master slammed against a wall. The bloody times. He fired again, blood exploded from the huge hole blown in the master's belly. The killing times. Another round blasted into the master's groin, blood sprayed from it as well.  
  
"I......AM.......NOT.......YOUR.......SLAVE!!!!!!"  
  
Harris fired the last two shots into the master's head. The small form slammed against the wall again and slid down slowly. Leaving a huge bloody smear behind. Harris's eyes flared red as he howled in victory. He looked down at the small and slightly overweight man. His scraggly gray hair was thinning, leaving a large bald spot. His stubby arms had little folds of flab hanging from them. Harris grinned maniacally.  
  
"You know what. He's a lot smaller then I remembered." He laughed as he slashed the bonds holding Nancy. She smiled weakly at him.  
  
"You saved me. I guess you're not the monster you thought-" She passed out from blood loss. Harris knelt by her, suddenly he heard a noise. The other door opened. Anne stood in the doorway, a gleaming sabre in her hand. She looked at the twisted figure on the floor, and at Harris and Nancy. Harris tensed, he hadn't counted on having to fight Anne.  
  
"You better get out of here....now." Anne stepped out of his way. Harris nodded to her and, picking up Nancy, dashed for the entrance. Anne then looked at George Anderson. He was slowly starting to heal the gruesome damage done to him. 

* * *

Jericho looked up as the doors slammed open behind him. Harris charged onto the lawn, a woman in his arms. Jericho glanced over at the massive figure of Marv, rising up, his hands caked in blood and bits of bone. The templar shook his head and dashed off, easily leaping over one of the walls. Marv reached down and nabbed Roulda's hat. He plopped in on his head and grinned crookedly at Harris.  
  
"Shall we be off master?" he asked with a twisted grin, motioning to the nearby limo.  
  
"Yes," sighed Harris as he looked down at Nancy, "let us." They quickly climbed into the car.   
Marv started it up and grinned as the powerful engine purred to life. "Now that is a thing of beauty," he said as he accelerated out the gate. 

* * *

Jericho came back over the wall and rushed into the house. He spotted Anne. "Oh...you lived." She looked up at him and shook her head. "So where's Georgie boy?" Anne pointed down at a bloody melted mess on the floor.  
  
"My guess is Harris doused him with a gallon of acid or so." Jericho shook his head at the mess.  
  
"Damn, he must have been annoyed at the sicko."  
  
"Yes, or disgusted by his actions," added Anne as they walked from the room. 

* * *

Marv tuned the radio to a country station and turned up the volume. "Ahhh, Merle Haggard. That's more like it." Marv popped a cigarette in his mouth and lit it as he draped one arm out the window. "Hey Harris, where ya want me to take you and your girl?"  
  
"First to her apartment to get her things."  
  
"And then?"  
  
"The bus stop, I'm getting her out of this stinking town." Marv glanced into the rearview mirror.  
  
"Ain'tcha going with? Ya did risk your life for the dame."  
  
"No, I thought I could go with her. But I learned something when I faced my mas...George."  
  
"What'dya learn?"  
  
"That whatever I look like on the outside...," Harris looked out the window at the lights of the city streaking by. "I learned that inside....I'm still the monster."


End file.
